The Real Deal
by James Gordon III
Summary: Gordon gets a corruption charge and a new commissioner from out of town takes control of the department in his absence. At first things are quiet on the supervillain front - but what's really going on?


THE REAL DEAL

I am waiting.

The signal has been on for hours, and I don't know if he's busy or just doesn't want to talk to me. I can't blame him if the latter is true – Gordon and the Batman have a special agreement of some kind, one that doesn't generally leave the rooftop I'm standing on. A replacement would be hard to trust, given that the official policy of the GPD is that Batman is a wanted man. Still, I wait.

I'll wait for as long as it takes.

"Drake," the shadows say, and I turn around without shock.

"Call me Reggie," I say, and extend my hand towards where I think he's standing – there is no response, so I take it back.

"I'm impressed," he says, from somewhere else.

"Why?" I ask, giving up on social norms entirely.

"Because you're not trying to kill me."

"Not yet," I say – it escapes my lips. So stupid, Reggie. So stupid.

He emerges to my left. "It took me a while to canvas the neighborhood," he says. "And I know you're unarmed."

"That's right," I say.

He stares at me with cold eyes. "What do you want."

"I'm open to a relationship," I say. "I just wanted you to know."

"Gordon will beat the rap," he says. "If anyone is above corruption it's Jim."

I nod. "That's what we're all hoping." I pause. "It looks pretty bad though."

He says nothing, trying with silence to show how much of a small fry he suspects me of being. Telling me I don't deserve my post.

I do.

"I'm open to a relationship," I say again. "I would just request that you lay a little low while I get used to the job."

He is silent again.

"Look, I may not be Gordon, but I'm a veteran." I try to sound firm. "I know we're going to have to work together."

He is quiet still, then looks out over Gotham. "You're from the other side of the country. Gotham isn't Los Angeles."

"That's not true. My family has three generations in Gotham. I grew up in Franklin Heights."

He nods. "Twenty years out west will make you forget."

"Look," I say, slightly offended. "I'm not Gordon. Let's just make that clear. I'm not going to try to be." He turns back to me. "I did a lot for LA. And I want to do the same for Gotham."

"I work with Gordon. He'll be back soon. You're here temporarily."

"What if I'm not?" I ask.

The roof is suddenly tense, and I can tell he's angry. I pause.

I had expected someone rational, someone who would think in the big picture. Maybe that's not what I'm going to get.

"I have an investigation going. I'll stay out of the spotlight," he says. I am surprised. "But don't expect me to hold off because of your word. When this city needs me, I'll be there."

"That's fine," I say. "But this city needs me too."

He stares. "Don't try to change things. The system isn't broken."

"Half the department is under investigation."

"It always is," he says.

I nod. "But not like this."

He pauses. He turns to the side, and starts to walk away.

I say nothing after him, guessing it would be no use. He jumps, and is gone.

He's right; Gordon wasn't involved in what is known as the Serpent scandal. Smuggling kids into the city for slavery isn't his thing. Odds are I am temporary, but while I'm here I intend to get my plane ticket's worth. I didn't come here out here to try the cuisine.

But it's two weeks of hard work and no play; I've had more than enough time to settle into the office they've turned into mine when I get the call in the middle of the night. It's a call I've been waiting for, in some ways, my entire life.

It's just a bank robbery on the surface, and we had those in California. An investigation is in order, and the culprit never gets away; cash like that has a hard time getting very far.

But it's not just a bank robbery. And the culprit is not just a thief.

"What have we got?" I ask as I enter the building. It's 3am and the night shift is there handing me documents and speaking in hushed tones as we walk towards the situation room.

"Sir, we looked into it and several of the bank employees didn't go home last night."

I nod. "And I was told there was some kind of mind-altering gas in the vault."

"That's right sir. We neutralized it but not before taking a sample."

I hold back a smile. The Scarecrow. "I want pictures of the missing posted all over town. Trace the toxin back to the chemical companies who manufacture the ingredients."

"Right," the lackey at my side says, and takes notes.

This is what was missing in LA.

The real deal.

The supervillains.

Ever since I was a kid watching news of the Riddler, the Joker on TV in my parents' basement, I wanted to play cat and mouse. It's what got me into law enforcement in the first place.

After a while, though, it seemed foolish. Getting to a high enough position, and in Gotham, seemed out of my reach. But slowly climbing the ladder in Los Angeles, I started to think that it was a little less unattainable, and now here I am, in the city that never sleeps but for nightmares, officially living out my childhood fantasy of running after the guys in suits.

As I reach the situation room I breathe in. The only question is, am I worthy. Will I be up to par against these freaks? Do I belong here, playing the big game? I want to know. And I will know soon.

Scarecrow was in custody about twenty minutes before he agreed to the guilty plea. I am elated. There is now definite proof that I belong here in Gotham as commissioner; I've put one of them behind bars.

The press are making me a hero, saying I've done what Gordon never could; I dislike the comparison because, corruption scandal or not, James Gordon is a brilliant man that has done a hard job well for many years. But I have to admit that they may be right.

Things go easy for a little bit – the city churns with crime like an organism, but no one big comes out of their caves. Maybe I've scared them off. The Scarecrow is going to Blackgate, where he will be housed with less famous criminals. Why exactly he passed up on the insanity plea is a point of contention; I don't think about it too much. I am too busy being on my toes, ready for the next supercriminal to come out of the woodwork. And, of course, focusing on my tall pile of day-to-day work. Big decisions, but nothing I hadn't been doing for five years in Los Angeles.

It doesn't come – the criminals known by fake names, over-the-top behavior and signature moves are all staying home. It is at this point that I get a call from Gordon himself. It's an unusual call – he tells me that I should be on the roof tonight, and won't respond to questions of why. Gordon, running errands for the Bat? Their relationship was closer than I thought.

I am waiting, again, on the roof, for a dark figure to emerge from the shadows; I wait for an hour, then turn to go inside for a coffee – I'm falling asleep.

"Scarecrow's got a plan," Batman says, from somewhere. I turn.

"What do you mean? He's on his way to Blackgate."

"He has friends in Blackgate," the Bat says, and walks out of the opposite corner from the one I thought he was in. "He'll escape."

"I'll put him back, then," I say, and Batman smiles.

"There's more to the situation."

I narrow my eyes. "What are you talking about."

"There's something in Blackgate," he says. "Something that wants to get out."

"Who are you, the Riddler?" I ask. His eyes turn cold. "What is this something?"

"Clayface."

I laugh. "Clayface is in a sealed cell deep in the prison. Everyone knows that."

He turns to go. "Crane is going to be his neighbor."

What he is saying stuns me. Have I fallen into a trap? "Wait. What am I supposed to do?" I ask.

"Stay out of my way," he says. The night becomes him, and he's gone.

Shit. Downstairs I immediately get Blackgate on the phone, but the man I speak to makes it clear that decisions made in state prisons are none of my business. It's clear to me that Batman is on to something. I lose my cool, and the hole it leaves festers.

Rumors. Clayface has assumed the form of Dr. Crane, and the two of them now sit, identical, next to each other, in a part of the prison that doesn't exist on paper. I don't doubt that the Bat was right.

Although I have obviously been a tool in what is sure to be Clayface's escape, I find myself so focused on my substantial workload that I basically forget about the issue. It seems as though the city's underworld is messing around with me; fruits in suits that were once always out in the open are in hiding, and gangs that had previously held nothing now control vast swaths of the city. I wonder, in my spare time off the clock, what the hell is going on.

I wake up, having dozed off in my chair, to find Batman standing over me. "Where is he, Basil?" I blink.

"What?"

A gloved hand hits me, hard, and I hold my jaw.

"I'm going to ask you one more time," Batman says. "Where are you hiding-"

A muffled groan comes from my closet, and I turn, just enough attention still on the caped crusader to watch him pull a taser out of his belt. "What the fuck?" I say.

"You move and I will shoot," he says, and, keeping the taser trained on me, walks towards the source of the voice. He opens the closet and inside, tied up, is…

Me?

"That's Clayface!" I yell. Holy shit, is this actually happening?

Batman looks between me and the fake me, and shoots the taser in my direction; as I fry and the truth of the matter is revealed, I watch in horror as Clayface morphs out of my shape and swallows Batman whole.

"Shit!" I say, standing as best I can.

Batman's fists and feet keep punching through the clay, making the scene not unlike that of an old cartoon fighting whirlwind, but he can't hold his breath forever. I walk over, grab my own taser, and shoot the beast.

Clayface hardens, temporarily, and Batman breaks through, gasping for air. He coughs up clay and looks in my direction. "Thanks. Now get me a cord."

"What kind of cord-"

"From the wall," he says coldly, and stares at me. I run and grab my pencil sharpener, which stretches to the half-recovered mess on the floor, and he rips the sharpener off, attaching the live current to our shapeshifting friend, who fries like bacon in a skillet, except screaming in an otherworldly voice.

"So he was planning on taking my place?" I ask.

"They," Batman says. "Pretty much any criminal who's anyone in Gotham had a piece in this plan. Apparently the Serpent investigation is involved; they took Gordon down and were going to have Clayface running the police department."

I stand there, in shock. "Thank you for-"

"It's my job," he says, and walks towards the window. "You handing in your resignation will speed up Gordon's reinstatement. Do it." And he's gone.

Two weeks later and I'm flying to Miami, where a position near the top of their department was opening up at just the right time. Sure, it's not the biggest job – but I'd been at what I consider the biggest job, and it was not a place I wanted to be. I collared one of the city's legendary colorful criminals, only to have his capture result in my almost being replaced by a…

Long story short, I felt fine turning in my resignation. I knew going in that Gotham is a rough place, but even having been there only upwards of a month I learned that it is so rough that you would have to be far crazier than myself to work in it. Batman was right – I had forgotten what the city was like; now that I've been reminded, it's time to leave.

I saw Gordon, before I left. We didn't speak, but we shook hands, and had a strange interaction. He stared me in the eyes, good and hard, then a slight grin came over his face and he nodded to me. As if to say, nice try kid. A for effort. But this is his city, and now I know why. It's not because he wants it; it's because he'll take it.

And he'll take it because, on that rooftop, he has an ace in the hole.

Later on, Gotham.

It was real.


End file.
